Slipping
by Delillium
Summary: (GTA V) Trevor feels like his mind is slipping sometimes: in the heat of an argument with his long dead brother, in the panic attacks that leave him gasping for air, all through the long sleepless nights. A new heist pops up and no one is denying their readiness to jump back in the saddle. But there's something wrong with the loveable psycho, and it's evident to everyone.
1. One Day

**1**

* * *

If Trevor could've or had to of admitted one thing in his lifetime to the world, he would've been slightly ashamed of what he'd want to tell. It wouldn't be that he was fully aware of his father's abandonment of him even though he'd been clouded previously by the perception that his father actually loved him. It wouldn't be that his saintly mother worked nights not for the money for her two children, but for the thrill and escape from her _'burdens'. _It wouldn't be the fact that his brother's death was actually a suicide that he told everyone was an accident because Ryan had asked him to. No, it would be the one thing he was really just down-right ashamed of.

It would be the fact that Trevor Phillips, himself, couldn't fucking live without the thrill of the fucking kill of robbing some helpless soles with Michael fucking Townley.

But he'd be damned if he ever _had_ to admit it.

The lesser known but equally confusing thought he was conflicted with was the new bond he felt for Franklin- the same bond he felt with Jimmy. Like the uncle or maybe even older brother. He had a romanticized version of how valuable his philosophy really was, so in all honesty, Trevor was the uncle or older brother that was best loved and doted over, but not ever taken too seriously on serious topics- never to be the guide or conscience of anyone, really.

That could be Michael's job- even if his wisdom was only slightly less shitty.

Michael was full of realism and thought-out selfish planning whereas Trevor was conscious of those around him, those he loved anyway, and reacted based on emotion and passion- never on raw logic in itself.

Mix the two, and you could find a healthy dose of Franklin.

Trevor thought through that once before and pushed it off as something worth smiling at when he was high one day. But for now, he was focusing on a flapping sail and smacking waves against the sailboat he stole. The fulfillment he felt off stealing the boat outweighed the novelty of buying his own, so he propped his booted feet up on the steering wheel, hands behind his head, and watched the sunset against the clouds.

The music was off, and it was just the sound of the waves and those fucking seagulls he hated but gunfire would break concentration so he drowned them out with the whisper of a wind and the soft breeze that cooled him.

At peace for once, just thinking through his internal thoughts.

Meditation had often been recommended to him by psychiatrists when he'd been a younger Canadian resident. That'd been shortly after his father's attempt at abandonment in the mall and short after death- not by him despite rumor, but by his mother.

It'd been recommended by the newest psychiatrist he'd hired. This time he'd attempted to be serious with it- because there were certain...things he'd been facing that troubled him, along with the thought that his psyche might actually be slipping. He wasn't sure, so a psychiatrist seemed to be the best answer. But imagine a world where psychiatrist actually listened to what you said and didn't prescribe you every pill under the fucking sun and of course never came at you with the question _'do you meditate?' _

Fuck Los Santos and their hippy-dippy meditating.

But, beneath a pink sky and in a deep blue ocean on a long white sail boat with nothing for miles- it seemed so appropriate to just reflect and Trevor figured that'd be the closest he'd come to ever meditating.

It felt like all these thoughts were just pushing against his skull until he couldn't take them anymore- he'd panic at first. Start losing his grip on things once he stopped getting any sleep. No sleep meant more drugs- because he felt like he was slipping.

He'd remember that God damned psychiatrist from the Air Force _'Trevor Phillips, one day you're gonna slip and it'll all be down hill from there...you'll be a mentally crippled mess of a man and America and her soldiers will not suffer from your breakdown due to your inability to accept human life as precious.'_ Blah, blah, blah. Hypocritical words for a military branch in his opinion. Human life precious? Wasn't it their job to protect...through killing? Fucking hypocrites. He was the best man for the job.

He'd panic at remembering her words though, _'Trevor Phillips...one day you're gonna slip...you'll be a mentally crippled mess of a man.'_

Panic sent him to drugs. Downers first to try and sleep. Uppers later when he felt like he was going to die- but still couldn't sleep.

Hallucinations came with or without the drugs.

Everything crammed inside of his skull...he couldn't get rid of all the thoughts only half way thought out. Just thinking about thinking through his abandoned thought processes scared him- sent a shiver down his spine. He feared his own answers to his questions floating through his head.

He was at the later stages of all this- barely functioning and sustaining off alcohol, no drugs because he didn't need them. He showered four times a day to try and find sleep easier because he thought once he was warm beneath a shower head and the tension released, he'd relax even just a little. That was just a dream- that he wished he could sleep to have.

Nothing ever eased up, nothing ever got better.

Anger, confusion, bi-polar rages he only half remembered.

He tried everything to normalize himself, hoping his mentality would catch a hint- he got Ron to clean his trailer and he'd kept it clean as a distraction. He wore clean clothes even, just to try and convince his brain everything was okay. The smell of soap eased him for a minute- and that was hopeful.

He wondered if the smell of soap eased him because he loved the way Momma smelled in the morning after she'd taken a shower. She only showered when she was in a good mood. If she was in a bad mood, she never left the bedroom.

The smell of soap reminded him everything was okay.

That was probably it.

Distraction.

Trevor put a hand to his aching head and swallowed.

"I can't fucking take this..."

* * *

"...are you in?"

Lester's voice suggested evil and Michael just loved the way it proposed adrenaline...excitement...oh, right, and wealth. Sure, there was that little bonus- but who needed that aspect of it?

He hesitated, but not for long, "Amanda and the kids are out of town for a week."

"...I can work with that..." Lester swallowed, wondering if his social life was really in such peril he'd be curious enough to ask..."...why didn't you go with?"

"Ah, well."

Lester could hear Michael rub the back of his neck nervously, a habit both Trevor and he carried and he'd begun to see Franklin picking up doing lately whenever he got the chance to see any of the,- he wondered which of the original two, however, did it first.

"She's visiting her mother- and her mother would like to see my face on the news if you know what I mean."

Lester snorted, mostly to himself, but Michael joined in laughing at his own misfortune, "Understandable," Lester replied, "so I suppose I'll get into contact with Franklin and Trevor- we'll meet up at my house tomorrow morning, eight-ish."

"Fucking-A." Michael agreed with a smile, excitement uncontainable as he picked the whiskey glass back up and looked at the time on the clock that read eight PM. Twelve hours- that was all.

And at the click, Michael fell back into the couch and thought of the excuses he could come up with or alibis he'd make up for his wife if she saw the robbery on the news when she came back.


	2. Home

**2**

* * *

In the immense silence, a ring broke everything in half.

Trevor jumped, lips shaking and eyes wide at his cellphone. Gaping at it for a moment, unbelieving anything could possibly interrupt his panic attacks.

He careful looked over the table of cigarette ash and gasoline in cups.

His shaky hands deftly rubbed through his wet hair, or what he had left of it, and then across the stubble on his jawline. It continued to ring, shrilly, through the trailer. He felt sick and curious, both nervous and fearless at the same time.

He slapped a hand against his cheek and shook his head, "C'mon, Trev."

The sick pit in his stomach grew and he ignored the phone, stumbling to his bathroom and falling into a heap onto the floor as he proceeded to stick his head into the toilet and puke up anything left in his stomach- which was nothing but acid. He hadn't eaten since...

Fuck, what day was it?

Well, fuck it. You could go seven days without food anyhow, probably more if you're not a pussy and you live on alcohol.

Yeah, sure, that sounded good to him, sounded scientific enough to reason.

The phone's song ended and he leaned his face against the rim of the toilet, it was cool and he begun to realize the whole trailer was cool. Shivering, he lifted his cheek from the toilet and slowly stood.

"That's fucking disgusting."

Trevor turned sharply to the door, stumbling backwards into the wall. "Oh...you again."

A smirk spread across his face, but his eyes showed genuine concern.

"Don't you fucking pity me, you dick. You're not all-...allowed."

"Trevor, you're dying."

"Fucking Judas!"

"Would you stop it? I'm sorry if I wasn't as strong as you. I told you: I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take knowing what Mom did-"

"Don't you talk about, Mom!"

"Trevor don't you see what happened to you?"

Trevor was silent, swallowing and falling onto the toilet, and setting his arm onto the toilet tank lid.

"Don't you even remember Dad? He taught you how to hunt...he built model airplanes with you...he told you all his old Air Force stories."

"Stupid fucking American, that's why I shouldn't of trusted him in the first place."

"What in the _fuck _are you talking about, you fucking idiot? Dad never betrayed you! If this is about...Dad tried to leave you at that mall because he knew when he came home, Mom was gonna kill him. He knew you could handle yourself, for fucks sake you were thirteen. You act like you were three!"

"Fuck you, Ryan! He didn't know-"

"Of course he knew. Think about it, Trev. Why did Mom kill Dad in the first place? Just to be a whore? She didn't even have a reason! She was mental from all those pills, and Dad knew she was going off the deep end. She forced you to help her throw him into the river. Why the fuck are you so loyal to her? If anyone's the Judas, it's you! You abandoned Dad. Remember Dad, Trev? You abandoned him! Don't you see? You replaced your attachment for Dad with her! She's a monster, toxic! How do you not realize this shit, Trevor? The fuck's wrong with you?"

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Ryan! You left! How could you know shit, you little fucking back stabber?"

Ryan softened and swallowed.

"Trev, I always loved you, little brother. I couldn't live with it all. I just couldn't do it. An innocent man dying. He was a good man, Trevor. And you know it, you little prick."

"You weren't around for it anyway. Another example of abandonment by the infamous Ryan Phillips."

"I joined the Air Force, Trev. Just like you would...or, well, try to."

A burning sensation came from behind his eyes and Trevor swallowed against the current.

"Eat something, Trevor."

The lack of noise his foot steps made assured Trevor he was indeed nothing more than a hallucination, but his hand felt so warm against his back and the comfort and closure it brought was indescribable.

And then he remembered- this wasn't him.

And he was gone.

And then that fucking phone started ringing again.

And Ron started rapping his fist against the front door, "Trevor? Are you awake? Your phone's ringing!"

"Get the _fuck _outta here, Ron!" His voice cracked and unsure shuffling of feet could be heard behind the door and then quick footsteps fleeing.

That wasn't a hallucination.

Hopefully?

He picked up the phone which read Lester with the outline of a shadowy face ensuring the caller ID was correct.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he sighed a little, clearing his throat.

"Trevor?"

"Hello, sunshine."

"New heist- are you in?"

The words sounded so confident, as though any rejection would've been the product of some dream-like state, but Trevor hesitated.

"Did you hear me? Are you there?"

"No, I heard you. I-...Michael's in?"

Lester snorted shortly and gave a dark chuckle, "Uh, yeah."

"And Franklin."

"Done."

"...When are we meeting up?"

"Eight tomorrow morning."

"...Fuck, what time is it?"

Lester was quiet for a moment and came back a little unsure, "Nine at night."

"Oh."

"Are you high?"

A better excuse didn't come to mind and he took the opportunity quickly, "...you call me at nine in the _noon_ and you expect me to _not_ be."

"Are you clear minded enough to understand I've asked you about a new heist, a new opportunity?"

"They listen on these things ya' know..."

"I've cleared the line. One of my newest accomplishments, _they_ can't decode a thing. They don't even see a connection. Pretty amazing, hm? Uh, right, anyway...it's a big one. We're talking about...maybe fifty million."

"Total?"

"Each."

"Fuck..."

"Are you in or not?"

"...I don't know."

Lester sighed and put a hand to the bridge of his nose, "We can't do this without you."

Trevor swallowed, heart racing. "Chef's good with a gu-"

"I'll repeat...we can't do this without _you_. It's not about the gunmanship- though yours is formidable. It's about the experience, the know-how. Are you understanding my words here, Trevor? I've thought of everything and it boils down to three factors. The know-how of Michael, you and Franklin."

"...alright."

Trevor hung up the phone quickly- he wanted it more than anyone knew. Another action packed heist with Michael and Franklin by his side- but what if he slipped? What if he blanked? They would all d-

He didn't want to the think about that.

* * *

"You're sure he said he was in, right?" Michael looked down at his watch a second time. This time it was eight forty-five.

"Well, I mean that's what he was _trying _to say. It's what he _meant_. He'll be here." Lester replied.

"What'd you mean it's what he was _trying to say_?"

"He was high at the time of the call- clear enough to understand what I was saying but obviously in some sort of delirium. He seemed fine enough at the sound of fifty million dollars."

"Fuck man, boy is always getting fucked up." Franklin murmured more to himself than anyone,

"Mm." Lester agreed and took a shaky breath, "It is a bit of a drive from Sandy Shores to here..."

"I thought he set shop at that stripper joint?" Franklin interjected.

"He did- lately he's been staying in his trailer at Sandy Shores, and though I'm unsure why, he seems content there."

"Beats the fuck outta me." Franklin agreed as Michael shook his head, looking out the window and out of sheer luck, saw the Canis Bodhi parking at the street.

Coming up the steps was a scruffy but surprisingly very clean Trevor. In a plaid button-up and jeans that both looked washed and though slightly wrinkled, looked ironed compared to his usual apparel.

"Here he is."

"Look like he been fucked up or ready to go?"

"Hell, I can't tell. He's very..._very_ clean and I don't know _what_ that means."

Coming into the bedroom, Trevor blinked silently at the three men that looked back at him.

"What the fuck're we doing in here? Talking about making cash or gossiping? Jerking each other off or...?"

"Ah, man, what the fuck."

"Trev, I'm concerned. I'm not overpowered by your stench." Michael smiled and folded his arms across his white button-up.

Trevor didn't respond but shrugged his shoulders, "I've got a million excuses, I promise to be dirtier next time, Pa."

"No, no thanks. I like the smell of soap versus the trailer park. But where's the blood on your knuckles? No fist fights on your way here? What's going on?"

"What the _fuck _did I come out here for, exactly?"

"Alright, alright, boys." Lester took a breath, "Let me give you the short run down like I gave to Michael over the phone. Basically, we're moving up...way up. We'll be travelling to Trevor's home town."

Trevor eyes snapped to Lester and his heart stopped, his blood running cold.

"What?"

"Canada." Lester clarified.

"Look, Bud, I lived in I don't know how many fucking cities, okay? Be a little more specific? Narrow it down to a province, city...?"

"Toronto, Ontario."

Trevor nodded, "Definitely familiar. I'm guessing we're going after The Big Five?"

Lester was a little surprised, pushing his glasses up his face.

"Exactly."

Franklin shook his head, "Wait, the big what now?"

"So, we're targeting The Royal Bank of Ontario."

"Glad to see you're catching on so quickly."

Trevor shrugged, "What's going to be so great is hearing how you plan to do it. They have eight hundred twenty-five billion dollars in assets, ya' know."

"I see you keep up with hometown news?"

Trevor shook his head and opened his mouth and then closed it.

"What?" Lester questioned.

"Nothing."

"Okay, well, let's see if you know this. Currently, They're number fifty on the Forbes listing as of this year."

"They went up three this year, huh?"

Lester smiled slightly, "I didn't think you're nativity to Canada would prove as of any use, but...I could be wrong. Anyhow, our main concern is how we're going to get the money, correct? Naturally, Trevor and Michael will be taking on heist portion and Franklin will be providing escape.

When entering the country, passports are easy enough to get into Canada- before you ask, Franklin, I've got one for you already and Trevor has dual citizenship, I assume? You didn't get it taken away did you?"

"Haha." Trevor replied bitterly, "No."

"In that case, I know Michael has a passport, Trevor brings his birth certificate and we're good to go."

"Oh, uh, hold up. I don't have my birth certificate. My Mom had that last and uh-...pretty sure that all burned in the fire in Seattle. Yeah, pretty sure."

"In the report of that fire, it says the female owner of the house went running back in the house and had to be dragged back out- what did she grab?" Lester inquired.

Trevor's mouth opened in a stunned silence, remembering the fire that licked the sky as he screamed and cried on the front lawn, pulling his hair as his mother went running into the fire.

His dad, Ryan, and now his mother? No, it was too much to lose...too much to...

"What the fuck? What've you been reading?" Trevor asked, pure shock across his face.

"Nothing much. I researched your previous residences this morning wondering if you lived in Toronto ever, it is helpful that you did, of course, considering you'll know your way around, and that's as far as I got. I found the Seattle residence particularly interesting due to the fire, I dug a little. Apologies if it's personal? Just wondering, if your mother ran back into a burning fire, it must've been something important, so what did she grab if not you and your brother's documents?"

"Oh, man you got a brother?" Franklin laughed, "There's two of you crazy ass niggahs?"

"She...couldn't get to the filing cabinet fast enough- _anywho_, I wasn't trying to take a trip down memory lane and this heist is already proving more fucking work than outcome." Trevor responded, beginning to get nervous as the question piled against him, and everything was beginning to overflow into last night.

Truth be told, his mother ran back into the house and came back with her little wooden box which was filled with money in the drawer section and on the top part, in a secret compartment, a shit-load of coke.

"Alright, alright. I'll have a copy ordered. It's not a big issue. Anyway, after entering the country, you'll lie low for a day then the next day it's time to get to work, it's pretty simple. You'll land on the heli-pad of the bank via helicopter at exactly eleven AM as the two rich investors they're expecting. Mr. Brown and Mr. Reynolds. Franklin will pilot the helicopter with Trevor overseeing it. After-"

Franklin cut him off quickly, "You know I can't pilot a helicopter, man."

"Trevor will be there the entire time, if need be, he can take control. Now, as I was saying. After they show you around some, the men expected to be escorting you should get close to the vault we need access to.

At that time, I'll tell you in your ear buds that it's time, you'll pull the hidden guns you have on them, demand they open the vault and they _will _know the combination. Franklin crashes through a few near-by windows, Trevor will get the bags from the helicopter, run them back to you Michael who will load them. Trevor will take the loaded ones back to the helicopter full of cash, and bring you back more empty ones. With this system, it should only take three minutes. Then you enter the helicopter, and fly off into the mountains where I'll have a cabin already set up and you destroy the helicopter. I have a few men who will each bring a portion of the money back to me to clean via airplane. You three will come back a few days later, claiming to of had a wonderful trip in the mountains- and you won't be lying. Escaping the country might be difficult but there are multiple ways to do it, and after your few days of relaxation in the cabin, I'll be contacting you to discuss the options."

Trevor raised his eyebrows, "That could work. You've been a busy little cripple, haven't you?"

Lester smirked at the half-compliment and nodded slightly, "Not really, it's quite simple actually, but I'll take the credit into consideration where it's been due elsewhere and less appreciated. Now, usually I have a plan B, as to which Michael could pick between the two with consultation from both of you- however this is the only logical way to perform this heist, and if you think there's any other way, you are fucking mental."

"When do we start?" Franklin asked.

"ASAP." Lester begun, "But I'm curious, just quickly, Trevor, is there anything else you know about The Royal Bank of Ontarion that could be helpful?"

It was first opened in 1846 in Nova Scotia...? It's the largest Canadian bank in revenues and capitalization...?"

"Interesting- but not relevant."

"I think you know everything you need to, little buddy."

"Oh. Disappointing. Then, I'll be contacting you by tomorrow. Trevor, I recommend staying within the city tonight? I'll be needing you all here the same time tomorrow as today. Eight AM."

"Right-e-o." Trevor replied, moving his way out of the room with a faint smile, and as he passed through the door, his smile fell and he rubbed an eye that felt sore.

He entered his truck, music off, and sped out of the neighborhood with both Michael and Franklin watching silently from the porch of Lester's door, shutting the door softly behind them.

After a moment, Michael came back, slapped a hand onto Franklin's shoulder and smiled, "Hey, get a good night's sleep tonight. You'll need it. Long drive."

"Man, why can't we just take a plane?"

"Too much record keeping involved with that. C'mon, you know that, Frank."

Franklin shrugged, "Well, you can hope. Hey, but is it just me or..."

"...something feels off? With Trev?"

"Yeah, man, I felt like I had a sixth sense or some crazy shit in there, man. Glad you saw it too."

"Yeah, he didn't look right. But uh...prying'll just piss him off. Trust me on that, okay? He'll tell us what he wants to if he ever wants to- he's never let anything get in the way of a heist before."

"That's good to know, I guess. But that's your friend, man. You ain't concerned?"

"What're you-..." Michael trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, "...well, yeah. Sure I am. I mean, it looked like he hadn't slept for at least a week, maybe more. I think he's lost weight, and that either means he's been doing too many drugs or not enough depending on what his fix is right now. And fuck, there wasn't even a trace of blood on him or dirt or...anything. His breath was minty fucking fresh. I don't know what any of this means. He wasn't exactly his usual psycho-self in there, any other time he would've killed Lester for even mentioning digging through any file relating to him."

A voice came through over the speaker outside, "I noticed it too, it was a test. I knew Trevor's birth certificate had been burned, I wanted to mention to him that I'd looked through his files for a reaction. I've already ordered the birth certificate in fact- days ago."

"Yeah, usually he would've been fucking outraged. I don't know if this is good or bad. Could mean he's cleaning himself up? Cleaning up his act and trying to find some kinda normalcy? I'm sticking with that idea and running with it. Being an optimist for once."

"But if that's not what it is?"

"I've never had to be Trev's shoulder, if that's what you're asking. He's never been...that way. Alright, so look, he had a pretty rough ass childhood, sure. Maybe it reflects in his drug abuse? I dunno. But he knows he had a bad upbringing, doesn't pity himself for it, moves on with his life. Ya' know? We talk about life before we turned into criminals sometimes and we both have our share of stories...Trevor might have a couple more over me, but hell, I never heard anything in his stories that could've been too traumatizing. We _laughed_ at most of them. It's what we do, ya' know? Laugh at our old stories because if you can't fucking laugh at them, then you'll just get stuck on them."

"Yeah, I get you man. As long as you don't think this shit is serious. I mean, maybe you should just have a talk with him tonight or something, you know? Just to be sure everything's cool?"

"No, no, no. He wouldn't like that. He'd think I'm trying to piss him off or mock him or something. If he ever needs me, I have a feeling he'd make it known."

Franklin was hesitant, rubbing a hand over his shaved head and then shrugged. The complexity of both Michael Townley and Trevor Phillips would eventually be understood by him, he figured. Just not yet. He knew their friendship was deep, and if anyone knew Trevor, it'd be Michael. So he decided to just drop it. If Michael thought Trevor gonna be okay, than he shouldn't question it anymore.

"Alright, then, if you think so. I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow morning, then, huh?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Frank."

Michael watched, hands in his pockets as Franklin drove off and he made his way to his own car- wondering for a split second if maybe he should just call Trevor? Just let him know he noticed something was off? No- no, that'd be dangerous. He'd never come out of whatever it was if Michael told him he knew he was bad off. He'd just shell up even more and never come out of it.

It'd probably just lead to an overdose.


End file.
